


Accidents Happen

by C_AND_B



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6022444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_AND_B/pseuds/C_AND_B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You sent a nude?” You nod.<br/>“To Lexa?” Another nod.<br/>“Last night when you were totally blasted?” Another.<br/>“And she actually sent one back?” You nod for the last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidents Happen

“You sent a nude?” You nod.

“To Lexa?” Another nod.

“Last night when you were totally blasted?” Another.

“And she _actually_ sent one back?” You nod for the last time. Raven looks shocked and honestly you can’t blame her. You'd be lying if you said you weren’t still trying to convince yourself that you hadn’t just imagined the whole ordeal in some weird fantasy dream. You were still struggling to comprehend how this was a thing that had actually happened to you. But you had proof - very tangible, very awe inspiring proof.

From what you can tell the events went like this:

  1. You got incredibly drunk because you’d finished your last exam and that just seemed like the logical way to celebrate.
  2. Drunk you thought the best way to spend your evening would be to text Lexa a shirtless photo with the caption “ _What are you wearing?”_ (Side note: drunk you is apparently both an idiot and an excellent photographer).
  3. You had received a reply. An incredible, incredible reply that consisted of Lexa in nothing but lingerie and a smirk.
  4. You passed out and woke up in the morning with a headache and a shock as you unlocked the device.



The thing is that you weren’t exactly complaining. You, in fact, were not complaining at all, since this was basically all you had wanted since you bumped into her at freshman orientation a year ago. But you didn’t know where to go with this, or what to say, and honestly for once in your life, you, Clarke Griffin, were actually afraid to face a possible romantic suitor.

You won’t deny that you maybe liked your friend in a more than friend way. You won’t deny that you’d tried to hint at something a little _friendlier_ over the span of your friendship. You also won’t deny that Lexa is oblivious because, prior to last night, you had pretty much done everything bar legitimately throwing yourself at her to get her to take note of your growing feelings but she remained seemingly clueless.

You can’t totally blame her though because you hadn’t understood what was happening with you at first. You remember thinking she was pretty, no, you remember thinking she was an insane level of beautiful with her perfectly sculpted jaw and piercing green stare.

You remember being enamoured when the two of you first met but you downplayed it as attraction. Lexa was attractive. Anyone with eyes could see that. But then there was the ‘ _t_ _hese are real feelings_ ’ moment you had three months in when you were ridiculously angry with your mother for trying to control your life and she took you bowling. You had laughed when she pulled up outside the bowling alley but she merely smirked and pulled you inside. She got five strikes (six including the one in your heart) and she did this weird strike dance that made you forget everything else in the world.

From that point you had essentially made it your mission to work out if she liked you. You were failing. Or sober you was failing. Drunk you apparently had a fantastic plan to figure the whole thing out. A plan that meant you and Lexa had sexted.

The two of you sexted.

You knew what Lexa Woods looked like essentially naked.

She knew what your boobs looked like.

Fuck.

“Raven what do I do?” You ask frantically.

“Just tell her the truth?” She questions. You didn’t need more questions, you needed answers. _Good_ answers not stupid ones that were only going to cause more problems.

“Firstly, since when do you ever suggest the truth as the best course of action? Secondly, we both know how the truth will sound. Lexa will get all defensive and shut me out.” She concedes because you both know Lexa, and you both know saying you got drunk and accidentally sent her a nude wasn’t going to go down well with her (partially because you knew it probably wouldn’t go down all that well with you and she took things ten times more seriously than you did).                

“Send another nude?”

“I mean, that’s not the worst idea you’ve had.” She grins.

“Awesome, well then let’s work out the best lighting and get this show on the road.” You’re about to tell her to fuck off when there’s a knock on your door – a timid but sure knock that sounds three times and can only signify one person.

“She’s here.” You whisper and Raven all but falls over with a fit of laughter as she rushes to fling open the door and reveal Lexa on the other side. Lexa who looks both sure and unsure and holds coffee and what you can only assume are pastries in a delicious smelling brown bag. Lexa who passes a coffee to Raven with a roll of her eyes and then just stares at you like she knows what you look like naked. A shiver jolts down your spine.

“Clarke.” She says in way of greeting and you feel like you used to have pretty good control over your body. Not anymore. Definitely not anymore. Your stomach is flipping and your palms are drowning and your heart is skipping more beats than your broken car radio because you know what she looks like naked.

You can’t stop picturing it.

“Lexa.” You reply whilst Raven just laughs as she makes a grab for the bag in Lexa’s hands, only to have the woman lift it out of her reach all without breaking your gaze.

“Okay, so you two enjoy the rejuvenated eye sex, I’m gonna go see Octavia.” She steps around Lexa and quickly nabs the paper bag before ducking through the door, only to reappear one second later. “Oh Lex, maybe you can send me a nude next time since Clarkie wouldn't let me see this one?” You lob the closest available thing at her which just so happens to be your shoe. You revel a little too much in her yelp as she escapes again down the hall (probably because you know it’s your last solace before this whole thing gets really awkward).

“You sent me a photo of yourself. Naked.” She was just gonna go straight for it. Obviously she was just going to say it, it was Lexa and she didn’t spend time beating around the bush. You’re honestly surprised the two of you hadn’t had one of these awkward conversations already – especially after the ‘ _I accidentally fully groped your ass’_ fiasco last month (in your defence you totally thought she was Octavia). Ignoring all that, you simply nod.

“Then I sent you a photo of myself. Essentially naked.” You nod again. She steps further into your apartment, dropping the coffees to the kitchen island as she rests against it.

“You didn’t reply.”

“I fell asleep.” You rush out in explanation before you realise how bad that sounds – which is honestly ridiculously terrible. You should have just made up some crap like ‘I dropped it down the toilet’ or ‘it ran out of charge’.

Honesty was _not_ the best policy.

“Not interesting enough to keep the great Clarke Griffin awake?” She smirks.

“No, you were...” Your action could only be described as a vague mind blowing gesture because trying to phrase the stages you went through upon seeing that photo seemed impossible. “I was just...” _How do you phrase this without sounding like a total ass?_

“Drunk.” She finishes and it isn’t a question. She stares you down almost as though she’s waiting for you to contest it, or maybe she’s just waiting for the free entertainment that is you trying to come up with some valid explanation on the spot.

“What?”

“You were drunk, Clarke.” She reiterates.

“No, I-“

“I'm not mad, Clarke.” She cuts in with a grin before watching you carefully for a moment. Her lip trembles like she’s on the border of laughing at you. It’s the same look that she had the time you took way too many pain meds in the safety your own home and yet woke up on her couch with your head burrowed in her lap. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

Now that you actually think about, you don’t remember much after your eight shot of tequila.

“No.” She laughs wholeheartedly then.

“You drank a grown man under the table and then almost passed out in a bar before you insisted the bartender call your girlfriend for you.” _No, you couldn’t have. You wouldn’t have. Please say you didn’t._

“Tell me that wasn't-“

“Me? Oh yes, Clarke, apparently you're madly in love with me.” _Oh God. Oh God, oh God._ You were such an idiot. You should’ve got that app that blocked your phone when you were drunk, or not have spent a whole hour staring at Lexa’s number that time you tried commit it to memory (successfully apparently). You’re overly aware of the ever increasing blush on your face because it wasn’t exactly a lie; you just hadn’t imagined that the secret would come out because you decided a bartender would be the perfect confident.

“I- “

“Anyway, I came to pick you up and you were being very cute and very clingy. It was by the time I finally managed to get you to bed, and went to leave, that you told me to keep an eye on my phone.”

“Then I sent you that photo.” You fill in because of course you did. Of course drunk you decided it should be some big theatrical reveal.

“Mhmm” She hums but the next part doesn’t make sense. You were off your face so you being idiotic enough to try and start a sexting session could be somewhat justified. Lexa actually replying on the other hand...

“You replied?” She scratches the nape of her neck nervously, shifting her weight from foot to foot for a second before she stands her ground. She’s smirking then. The abrupt change in her demeanour makes your pulse stumble and you recognise that smirk.

It’s not the cheeky smirk she sends your way when she nimbly steals a fry, or the knowing smirk the two of you share when Raven says something particularly sexual about Octavia and tries to play it off as a joke. No. It’s a daring smirk. The only thing is you’re not quite sure whether she’s daring you or herself.

“It would've been rude to not reply, Clarke; my mother raised me to be polite. I also thought it might finally stop us both avoiding the obvious.” You match her grin as you slink into her space. It’s the catch in her breath that has you running your hands beneath her shirt. It’s the quiver of her abdomen that pushes your hands up to snap her bra strap. She squeaks before clearing her throat in an attempt to right herself, in an attempt to pretend that the least intimidating sound possible hadn’t just slipped from her lips.

“Well in the interest of being polite I feel like it wasn't really even.” You husk.

“No?”

“No. you see, I showed you more than you showed me.” Her eyebrows rise.

“I think it was definitely the other way around, Clarke.” She comments as her fingers daringly run up the backs of your thighs before she lifts you from the floor. You wordlessly wrap your legs around her waist as she starts stepping forward.

“Well then I suppose there's only one way to settle this.” You mumble, painting each word against her lips with timid brushstrokes. You wouldn’t call it a kiss, not yet. But you can feel her heart hammering against your chest. You can taste the bitter coffee and lingering mint on her breath. You can hear her thoughts rushing through her head as her eyes dart around your face. You need to call it one in the next three seconds or you might explode.

“You're right.” She replies as she slants her lips over your own, swallowing your moans with her mouth and silencing your mind with each new flick of her tongue. By the time your clothes are nothing but haphazard decoration around your room you think that the photo is nothing in comparison to the real thing. When you fall apart to the sound of her breathy chuckle and reverent whispers of your name against your neck you _know_ that the photo has nothing on her.

Not that you’d be opposed to receiving photos in the future.

In fact, you’d welcome it.

You would _so_ definitely welcome it.


End file.
